The bulk of my last week was spent traveling on business, and when I returned I purchased a new car, replacing a reliable but aged jalopy. My mind has rambled amongst numerous topics this past week, but none of them, alas, was jazz. So today I ponder nothing new. Instead, I offer a re-post from this blog's early days, from January, 2010, when I was recounting tales of my days as an organizer of the Kansas City Jazz Festival (and when hardly anyone read this blog). This particular tale recalls the year we brought to town and I had the delight to meet bandleader Andy Kirk.
Many don’t know that Andy Kirk led what once was the most popular band
to come out of Kansas City, Andy Kirk and his Clouds of Joy. Their 1936
recording of Until the Real Thing Comes Along was that year’s top
national hit. Count Basie would leave Kansas City the same year, and by 1937
Basie’s band was recording a string of tunes which not only eclipsed the
Clouds of Joy’s popularity but which remain jazz standards today.
For the 1985 festival, we brought Andy Kirk back to Kansas City to honor
him. The original idea (mine, actually) was to celebrate Kirk and
fellow KC jazz era bandleader Harlan Leonard with a battle of the bands,
groups we would assemble and they would nominally lead. But we found
that Leonard had passed away a year-and-a-half earlier in California. So
we flew in 87-year old Andy Kirk and scrapped the mock battle.
I would introduce Andy on stage. I’d prepared remarks, but wanted to
make certain I had all the facts right. The Nelson Museum hosted our
hospitality room that year, and that’s where I sat down with Andy.
I’ll never meet anyone nicer, or more delightful. I intended to cover my
list of facts in a few minutes. But as I read off each, Andy asked,
“Can I tell you a story about that?” For half an hour he regaled me with
tales of Kansas City in the 1920s and ’30s, of life on the road, of
legendary pianist and composer Mary Lou Williams, of the beginnings of
Kansas City jazz. Among my great regrets from those festival years is
that I did not have a recorder on the table that day.
All that Andy told me is in his autobiography, Twenty Years on Wheels (1989, The University of Michigan Press). Yet, for some reason, one particular story sticks with me still.
When Andy took over as bandleader in 1929, a promoter dubbed the group
Andy Kirk and his Dark Clouds of Joy, with “Dark” in the name to insure no
confusion that this was a band of black musicians. But Andy didn’t like
“Dark” in the name. As he explains in his book:
“I’d heard that expression back in Denver. It usually came from men
hanging around in front of a saloon with nothing to do. When some of us
came down the street towards them they’d remark, ‘Looks like it’s gonna
rain. Dark clouds comin’.’”
Upon taking charge, Andy’s first change was to rename the band, Andy Kirk and his Twelve Clouds of Joy.
Few who know Kansas City jazz will ever forget Claude “Fiddler”
Williams. His first recording (to my knowledge) was with Andy Kirk and
his Twelve Clouds of Joy in a 1929 session at KMBC radio.
Coincidentally, “Fiddler” played in a jam group just ahead of Andy at
the 1985 festival. Of course, I know that over the years many people
older than I saw “Fiddler” Williams and Andy Kirk together. But I was
young and impressionable. And as I watched them greet each other on
stage and chat, I was taken by the Kansas City jazz history standing
I still am. I may not be young anymore, but I remain quite impressionable.
The next day, some of the wonderful folks from Kansas City Parks and
Rec, who booked the festival that year, took Andy on a tour of downtown.
He wanted to see what this city had become. They stopped on 12th
Street, in front of the then-brand new Vista International Hotel (today,
the Marriott). This, they told him, replaced a strip of old
buildings and clubs where he once played. Andy, they later told me, was
That would turn out to be Andy Kirk’s last visit to Kansas City.